


Like Real People Do

by the_day_that_was



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Pacifist Markus (Detroit: Become Human), these two idiots are in love ok?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:21:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21808114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_day_that_was/pseuds/the_day_that_was
Summary: After leading a successful pacifist revolution for the freedom of his species, Markus knows that he should feel... something. All he feels is lost.(In which Markus and Simon play the piano, and realize something that should have been obvious to both of them.)
Relationships: Markus/Simon (Detroit: Become Human)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 102





	Like Real People Do

Markus felt lost. 

It had been a week since the night that everything had changed. A week since his people had gained their freedom. A week since humanity began regarding his species as more than machines- as living beings, capable of free will and thought.

It had also been a week since the rest of the world- both android and human alike- began to turn to him for answers. Of course, the androids had been doing this for weeks. They thought of him as a sort of messiah, their savior; he had gotten used to the reverent looks that followed him wherever he went, as misplaced as they had always seemed to him. But now… everything had escalated. Media outlets from around the globe attempted to contact him at all hours, demanding to know what the results of his revolution entailed for humanity. As if he knew. As if anyone really, truly knew. He was the face of android-kind, and by RA9, it was weighing on him.

He knew he should be proud. His people were free. At the very least, he should feel at peace. Markus didn’t feel either of those things. He only felt lost. So, he did what he always did when he felt his world was spinning wildly out of control: he tried to slow it down, just a little bit. Today, that meant searching out the old, dust covered piano that he knew to be hidden in one of the back rooms of the old church that now housed Jericho, and playing it for as long as he could until his responsibilities inevitably pulled him away from it.

Markus pulled out the creaking wooden bench from beneath the body of the piano and sat down. It was a wonder, he thought, that the dilapidated thing could support his weight. It must have predated even the first of his species by decades. He flexed his fingers and lined them up with the discolored ivory keys in front of him. As he played his first chord, he closed his eyes. 

It was before the revolution. He could feel himself falling. Falling into the abandoned freighter that was Jericho. He swore that all of his biocomponents must have been misplaced inside of him as his sense of gravity was upended. As he hit the ground, regaining his balance, the first thing he saw was darkness. Then, he had seen Simon. Welcoming eyes, set into a hopeless face. He had almost seemed to glow in contrast to the dank hull of the freighter. Looking at Jericho, at  _ Simon _ , Markus knew that he would fight until his kind was free. He simply had no other option.

He played another chord, letting the sound reverberate against the wooden panels of the old room.

He was paralyzed. He stood on the roof of the Stratford tower. In front of him was Simon, collapsed against a wall, thirium dripping down his leg. He wouldn’t be able to parachute to safety. Markus knew that- he knew that, logically- but to accept what it implied was unthinkable. He had two options. Markus could shoot him, which would protect Jericho. It would save Simon the pain of being taken as evidence by the humans. Or, he could spare him, leaving him to the throes of the humans, and potentially jeopardizing Jericho in the process. He knew which option he should logically take… but he couldn’t. It was unthinkable. He left Simon there on the roof. As he jumped from the roof of the tower, he had no time to process any emotion but hope. He hoped against hope that Simon would not be found, that somehow, he would survive. He hoped he would not live to regret what he had done. He hoped that Simon understood.

Again, he pressed down on the keys in front of him, and again, Markus was enveloped in their mournful tune.

The wind had whipped against him as he sat overlooking the skyline of Detroit. He was on the roof of Jericho headquarters. Snow fell quietly around him, white against the city smog. He couldn’t help but think about the day he had fallen into Jericho, about how Simon’s face had seemed so bright through the ship’s darkness. He couldn’t help but think about Simon. North had joined him on the roof, but he hadn’t felt like talking to her. He felt her disappointed gaze pierce into his back as he walked away from her, but he didn’t care. He could only think about Simon. Simon, who may have been in police custody, locked in an evidence locker somewhere because of Markus’ inability to act. Because he had been too selfish to pull the trigger and end Simon’s life that night on the roof. As he walked back in from the cold, something- no, someone- caught his attention from the end of the hallway. It couldn’t be…  _ Simon _ ? Simon! He walked towards him, slowly at first. His optical units had to be malfunctioning. He was wearing the uniform they had stolen at the tower, and thirium was staining the leg of his pants, dripping from his still open wound. It was him. Markus pulled him into an embrace. He would never let anything hurt Simon again. He knew, standing there in that hallway, that-

Almost as though his very thoughts had manifested him, the very android Markus had been thinking about pushed open the door to the back room Markus had been hiding in. The squeak of the door’s rusted hinges snapped him back to reality. 

Simon walked towards the piano where Markus still sat, gaze unbroken from the keyboard. “Everybody has been wondering where you ran off to, Markus. Should I tell them? Or… do you want to tell me what’s going on?” Simon hesitated, then sat down on the piano bench next to Markus.

Markus met Simon’s eyes, and the tips of his ears flushed blue. “It’s just… ever since the revolution happened, nothing has felt right. We accomplished everything we set out to accomplish, but still, there’s so much progress left for us to make. Everybody is looking at me for direction, but if I’m being honest, I don’t even know my own mind lately, let alone the answers to how humanity will learn to coexist with us… and…” Markus felt his voice beginning to falter. Jericho could never see him like this.

Simon reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve already led us through a revolution. You showed the humans that we’re alive. You’re allowed to take some time to breathe. You don’t need all of the answers right now, and nobody expects that from you here. We will follow you regardless, you have nothing to prove to any of us, Markus,” he slowly closed the distance between where they were sitting on the bench, inch by inch, until their legs were pressed together. Something about his presence, his mere proximity, was reassuring to Markus. 

“Now,” Simon continued, “It seems like you could use a distraction. Could a busy revolutionary spare some time to teach this PL600 how to play this piano?”

Markus laughed, a rusted, out of practice sound. It struck him that he hadn’t had much occasion for laughter as of late. “Of course. Do you have a particular song in mind that you want to play?”

Simon glanced down at his lap, unsuccessfully hiding the flush of his blue-tinged face. “Whatever is was that you were just playing. It sounded like… well, it sounds ridiculous, but it sounded like what it felt like to first feel emotion. Can you teach me how to play that?”

Markus could only nod. He had played that song shortly before he deviated. He knew exactly what Simon meant: the song felt like emotion itself, like love, even. Simon moved his fingers over the piano. Markus placed his hands over Simon’s, guiding them towards their proper place on the keys.

“We’re going to start slow. Just one key at a time,” Markus gently pushed down on Simon’s index finger, resulting in a drawn-out, clear chime from the body of the piano.

“Now, when you press that key, along with these,” he guided the fingers of Simon’s other hand to their proper places, “You play a chord. When you string the chords together, you play a song.” 

Markus spent the better part of an hour showing Simon how to play various chords. When Simon found that one came too quickly in succession to the one previous, Markus would play it for him. The song became a duet, clumsy at times, choppy at others, but still resonating and swelling at its core. When Markus had taught Simon each and every chord, and it came time to string the piece together, Markus thought that the result was more perfect than it could have ever been had it been played by a professional musician, simply because it was not perfect. Because it had been played by Simon, and because Simon had learned to play it from him. Because each hitch in the melody had arisen from their hands brushing into each other, and because each pause had been the result of Markus’ fingers guiding Simon’s own.

Sitting on the bench after the song had been finished, Simon grabbed Markus’ hand. Markus interlaced his fingers with Simon’s, placing his palm flush with that of the other android. Simon offered him a small, proud smile, and suddenly, Markus could no longer think.

His lips were on Simon’s, and everything made sense. There was no more distance between them. He could feel Simon melt into their kiss. Simon’s fingers tightened around his own, reassuring Markus of his presence. Now that he was here, he was here to stay. The memory of Stratford tower faded into oblivion, as did the revolution, the responsibilities, and the incessant demands of the public. Markus no longer needed answers: he had found them all in the android in front of him. Simon was his answer. He always had been, it had just taken him too damn long to see it.

As Markus reluctantly pulled away from Simon, he no longer felt lost. He had found his missing piece. As Simon pulled Markus clumsily back in for another kiss, he knew that the same could be said for him.

**Author's Note:**

> This was basically the result of my barely-functional gay brain absolutely YEARNING for more simarkus content. So yeah. I hope you enjoyed! Kudos and comments are always appreciated, if you feel so obliged to give them. It's my first work for this fandom, so please forgive any of my errors, I did my best lol.


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